


The Knight and the Heart-Tree

by FannyT



Category: Svarta rosor - Jean Sibelius (Song)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 16:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannyT/pseuds/FannyT
Summary: The knight paced the corridor outside the princess’s chambers. He’d been sent for to see her, but there were dignitaries and diplomats in her antechamber right now, yelling and arguing, and he’d been asked to wait.





	The Knight and the Heart-Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).



> Listening to Svarta Rosor in the context of this Jukebox challenge was wonderful, because it made me see the song in a whole new light—thank you for that! And as a swede, the translation you have in your Dear Author-letter is more accurate, yes. :) 
> 
> (I mean, it’s pretty archaic swedish in a poetic context, so translation is bound to be a bit tricky. But I do think Miller’s translation is a much better fit.)

The knight paced the corridor outside the princess’s chambers. He’d been sent for to see her, but there were dignitaries and diplomats in her antechamber right now, yelling and arguing, and he’d been asked to wait. 

So he paced, ten even strides in one direction, then the other—the walk the rest of the knights always found so amusing, making references that seemed to him too descriptive to be humourous. 

The door to the princess’s chambers finally opened, and the royal advisors poured out, some of them glaring in his general direction. 

“Abomination,” one muttered, and another one made the sign for warding off evil, quickly looking away from the knight and hurrying down the corridor. 

The knight looked after them, noting with interest how they all avoided eye contact. They would always speak like this: about him, never with him. He would try, on occasion, to make pleasant conversation when he met people in the halls, speaking about little things like the princess had taught him. It never amounted to much. Most of the castle simply avoided him on sight. 

The other knights did try to involve him in conversation sometimes, but they were stoic men and women to the very last one, and as far as the knight could tell, none too good at speaking to their own kind, either. The armourer, of course, could be counted as some sort of friend. But otherwise, it was only the princess who truly talked to him. 

The last of the advisors fled, and the knight stepped over to the open door. 

“Princess?” he said. 

She was sitting at her desk, leaning her forehead heavily into one hand. The other hand was tracing lines on a map, her lips moving silently and forming the names of cities and rivers. She looked up as the knight snapped to a halt in front of her desk, and for a few moments her face was drawn, tired and angry. 

Then she smiled at him, the bright princess he knew, and stood up from her seat. 

“My dearest knight,” she said, coming around her desk to take both of his cold hands in her warm ones. “I’m so happy to see you. Let us go out into the gardens, and leave this angry room behind for a time.”

She was wearing armour, the knight saw. It was not the shining, silvery set she wore for tournaments, however, with its palm frond emblem set in precious stones. This was another set of armour entirely—grey, utilitarian and somehow threatening. Her black hair was drawn into a tight braid, with none of the pearls she usually wore plaited into it, and her hands, when she let his go, curled into fists. 

Still, she took his arm like she usually did, and they walked into the garden, she laughing at the birds overhead and he taking in the sound of her voice. She always talked so strangely about things when they walked together—describing everything in the oddest fashion. She would talk about colours being kind or bold and about sounds being welcoming, words that he thought were only meant to describe people. 

She would always talk about scents when they walked like this, too, but smell was a sense he had not been given, so for that he could only take her word. Flowers seemed to be pleasant, grass fresh, and the air appeared to change depending on the wind or the day. Today she described it as salty, something that on other days always tended to cheer her, bringing a sense of wonder and liberating adventure, but today seemed to make her sad. 

But then she was sad underneath it all, today. Something was making her smiles come out lopsided and her eyes stray, and he couldn’t tell what it was or how to make it go away. 

Eventually, she led them to a bench. She sat for a while, staring out into nothing, and then turned to him. 

“Something has happened,” she said. “I’m going to have to go away.”

“I’m ready to follow you,” he said simply. Instead of making her smile, however, like it usually did, it only caused her expression to slip further. 

“Not this time, dear heart,” she said, putting a hand on his. “I’m going across the sea. There will be salt water and hot winds, and you couldn’t survive them for long.”

He touched a hand to his chest, involuntarily, feeling the rivets and cogs. And behind that, something curled and stretched inside him, unfolding strange little thorns. 

“My father is sickly,” the princess went on. “I need you to stay behind and protect him. He needs you more than I do, now.”

He was silent, torn. His highest desire was always to obey her wishes, but at the same time, he’d been made to follow her. 

“But you will come back?” he asked, finally. 

She sighed. “I do hope so. But I’m going to a dangerous place, to do dangerous things to protect us all from dangerous people. I don’t want to worry you, but I don’t want to lie, either.”

She touched a hand to his face. “It saddens me to no end to leave you,” she said. “And I’m sorry to sadden you, as well.”

“I cannot be sad,” he said automatically. They’d had this conversation many times, she and him. “You know that. The armourer gave me life, but she could never give me a heart.”

“Not a heart like mine or hers, no,” the princess said. “But then, I don’t think two hearts are ever really alike.”

She touched a hand to his chest, gently. 

“Your heart may not work exactly like mine,” she said, “but I know that it does work. Your roses started out only white, but I’ve seen your heart bloom with yellow and pink and red. I’ve seen the roses change as you change. As we change.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so in the end he only smiled. He’d learned smiles from her, but had never felt like he mastered them himself. They tended to make her smile back, though, which made them worthy in themselves. 

She gave him a curious look, her face caught between two different moods. “Will you allow me to open the door?” she asked, touching a careful finger to the clasps in the center of his chest. 

“You never have to ask, princess,” he said. 

“And yet I always do. Because it is important to ask. Feelings should always be shared, not taken.”

He nodded. Sometimes, the things that were important to her were a mystery to him. 

“You may open the door.”

She unclasped the lock and opened the door slowly, and he felt the odd sensation he always did, when his chest was open for the world to peer into. He’d never understood it; why this little thing should feel so strange. And why her asking should mean so much. 

“You have a new branch on your tree,” she said, looking up at him. 

He felt that curling, prickly sensation again, and something deeper, too—a tugging and tearing in the very core of him. _Pain_ , he thought, surprised at the realisation. 

Her hand hovered in front of his chest, like a frightened bird, but in the end she only closed the door again, letting her hand rest against his metal. 

“I promise I’ll do my best to return as soon as possible,” she said. “And then we can have bright rose days again.”

* * *

The knight stood on the dock, watching the princess’s ship set sail. He could feel that deep tugging within him; like the roots and branches inside him were struggling to break free from his metal skin. 

He opened the door in his chest, feeling inwards until he found the trunk of his heart tree. He could feel the new branch the princess had been talking about—a twisted, thorny little thing. 

Carefully, he plucked off one of the flower buds and looked at it. The bloom was black, and he thought suddenly that he might know how the princess might describe it. 

_A sad shade_ , he thought, watching the ship sail into the distance, carrying his princess with it.


End file.
